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By Carolyn J. Fairweather Hughes Submitted by Bridget O Date: 2002 Aug 28 Comment on this Work [[2002.08.28.17.10.31131]] |
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Gnarled fingers of hands that were once beautiful fondle the yellow keys. When no one is listening, she randomly strikes a few dissonaut notes. Sometimes, I have to turn away to keep from weeping at her altered state. But then I see the grey wrinkled face smile as chords, precise and graceful, drop from her hands like ripened plums. |